Tongue-in-cheek romp following the exploits and adventures of three girls as they travel Down Under during their gap year.The intention behind writing and publishing One In The Bush is and has always been to raise the vibrational frequency of laughter one reader at a time. It is beyond all comprehension what is lying before me. I try to ascertain what has taken place, but can’t for the life of me phantom it out. Ange has got up from her foetal position on the floor and is sitting in the armchair that now finds itself tilted against the wall in the far corner of the room, about 8 ft from its usual place. She is holding a gun in her hand which I realize very quickly must be a taser as it still has sparks coming from the nozzle. Her shorts are hanging from the mantelpiece and Jules is draped face-up on the sofa with a Lone Ranger, seriously? A Lone Ranger mask melting, yes melting, onto her forehead. Her bottom lip is swollen and looks the same size as a 10 lb kettlebell. A real trout pout if ever I’ve seen one. Eat your heart out Kim Kardashian. There is a steady stream of drool cascading from what I believe to be every one of her orifices on to the floor. She appears to have a blowtorch burn on her thigh the size of the Sydney Opera House and there is banana puree over her chest and midriff. There’s a foul, unmistakable odor of burning skin, hair mingled with banana and that’s when I see that Jules has shat herself. She is so out of it that she doesn’t seem to notice let alone care. Who’s going to have to clean all this mess up? Yes, of course, ME!!